


Melpomene

by sdwolfpup



Category: Slings & Arrows
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-07
Updated: 2011-10-07
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7376683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/pseuds/sdwolfpup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This isn’t…this isn’t what you think it is.”</p>
<p>"Really? Because it looks exactly like a midnight booty call to me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melpomene

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mizface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizface/gifts).



> Written for mizface for the ds_noticeboard Mini-Exchange! Many thanks to brynnmck for swift and excellent beta services. I was very rusty. *g*

“This isn’t…this isn’t what you think it is.”

"Really? Because it looks exactly like a midnight booty call to me."

Geoffrey winced – partially from the truth of that statement, but also from the overly-affected way Darren pronounced “booty.” He tried to surreptitiously button up his loose shirt. “Darren, if you could just let me in, we’ll never speak of this again.” Geoffrey surely wouldn’t; leaning seductively against the wall and letting out a low “hey, baby” just as Darren opened the door would not be a mental image Geoffrey would want to revisit.

“Even if Ellen were here right now – which she is not – I would not let you in. You stink of old, uncorked wine and Andrew Lloyd Webber.”

“You take that back,” Geoffrey hissed.

Darren rolled his eyes. “Good night, Geoffrey. I’ll leave Ellen a note that you were here.”

“Wait, please.” Geoffrey was realizing that there were deeper levels of humiliation left to be mined this evening. “I need somewhere to stay tonight.”

“Isn’t that what you rented an apartment for?”

“Well, yes, although I suppose you could say I didn’t _technically_ rent it.”

“Oh Geoffrey.” Darren heaved a dramatic sigh. “Not again.”

“It’s not my fault that the landlord changed her mind about being paid in artistic value. She simply wanted me for the sex, if you can believe that.”

“I really cannot.”

“Ha ha ha. Now please, Darren, in the name of whatever love you bear me, let me in?”

Darren threw open the door with a grand flourish. “Mi casa es su casa, until Ellen comes home and finds out you were fucking your landlord.”

“I never fucked her,” Geoffrey said, hurrying inside. It was April and cold outside and the unbuttoned shirt had been a stupid idea either way. “And she’s living here with you, so she can’t be jealous of my situation.”

“Ah but she pays in money, Geoffrey, not idealistic dreams.”

Geoffrey snorted. “You’ll take her money but not mine.”

“You never have any to take.”

Geoffrey had to concede that point. “I can’t imagine where Ellen gets the money from, though.” He glanced at Darren, who was pouring whiskey into a steaming mug.

“Hot toddy?”

“God, yes, thanks.” Geoffrey sipped and felt the warmth of it seep up through his insides. “She’s lousy with money,” he continued. “I mean, she is the absolute worst. She once tried to give a waitress a coupon for the restaurant she worked at as a tip, and explained it as being valuable because the waitress ‘surely got reduced meals for working there and the coupon would make them free.’ She _believed_ it. It was insanity.”

Darren sipped his own toddy and shrugged. “Perhaps Ellen just prioritizes her money better than you.”

“Hah! Now _that_ is a falsehood.” Geoffrey looked around and pointed to an ugly carved wooden giraffe in the corner. “There, what kind of financial genius buys a wooden giraffe painted blue, yellow, and purple?”

“She said she liked the riot of colors.”

“It cost _four hundred dollars_ , Darren. She doesn’t make that much money.”

Darren refilled his mug, and Geoffrey started to get suspicious. He looked around the living room and noticed a shocking number of useless items that he’d seen Ellen buy. “She doesn’t make that much money,” he repeated. There were two tall, golden lamps, both unplugged. A wicker basket filled with overstuffed pillows. A painting leaning haphazardly against a breadbox-sized replica of the Sphinx. Expensive knickknacks, everywhere. “Darren.”

He watched as Darren started to lift his eyes, then tried to look like he hadn’t heard, then apparently decided it was best to forego that course of action and meet Geoffrey’s gaze. “Another drink already, Geoffrey?” he offered in a weak voice. “You should watch your drinking problem.”

“Are you letting her stay here because you’re in love with her, or just because you’re fucking her?”

Darren bolted to his feet, his mug crashing to the ground. “I will not have you compare her to some cheap harlot!”

“Ah-HAH. You _are_ in love with her!”

“Please!” But Darren’s already pale skin had gone white. “It’s not like that.”

“Like my midnight booty call wasn’t like that?” Geoffrey grabbed the nearest item, a solidly built clay vase, and hefted it.

“Yes! No! God, Geoffrey, why do you have to always resort to violence?” Darren took one of the gold lamps in his hands and waved it protectively. “She’s my muse!”

That pulled Geoffrey up short. “She’s your _muse_?”

“Yes!” He sounded almost disgusted. “She inspires me to greatness. And in return I…I give her fun money and a place to stay.”

Geoffrey narrowed his eyes. “Fun money?”

“Just a little something to inspire her in return. That’s all this,” he shook the lamp, “is.”

“You’re not paying her to have sex with you?”

Darren glowered. “Don’t cheapen this, Geoffrey. As distastefully cliché as it is, our relationship goes beyond the physical plane. You wouldn’t understand, as consumed as you are with the pleasures of the flesh.”

Geoffrey wanted to respond wittily to that, but he couldn’t deny being a fan of flesh. Still. “Does Ellen know she’s your muse?”

“Not…exactly.” Darren gestured with the lamp. “Will you put that thing down, please? It may be hideous and solidly built but it cost an egregious amount and you have terrible hands.”

“I do not!” But he set the vase down anyway.

“How many times did you drop your sword when we were practicing the fight in _Romeo_? I thought I’d have to throw myself on it to get you to kill me on opening night.”

Geoffrey brought up one of the hands in question and yelled, “Stop it! This is not about my hands or your stupidly heavy vases. Does Ellen know you’re using her like this?”

“It is a mutually beneficial relationship that she has not questioned at this time.” Darren set the lamp down and smoothed down his velour vest. “And I’ll thank you to not speak of it further and sully its magnificence with your coarse tongue.”

“How does she not know? Even Ellen isn’t so blind as that.”

“I might,” Darren started, his voice tight, “have told her that her taste was impeccable and she could earn her keep by interior design.” He sat down in a slump. “Look at where my treacherous lies have led me. But my luck has been outlandish since she asked to move in with me. Well-paying jobs keep falling into my lap, and I even won one hundred dollars playing Keno on a lark the other week. Look.” He pulled out a letter and thrust it toward Geoffrey. When Geoffrey took it, Darren simply explained, “Chicago wants me.”

It did appear that a mid-level theater in Chicago had come calling for one Darren Nichols to produce a summer stock version of _A Winter’s Tale_. Geoffrey chewed the idea over, and then smiled brightly. “So you’ll have room in your apartment for me to stay then.”

Darren’s eyes went round and huge as dinner plates. “No,” he said, horrified.

“I may get so cold and sleep-deprived without a roof over my head, who knows what I might say to Ellen. She would be so excited to find out she’s not just your decorator, but your actual muse. I can only _imagine_ how wonderful it would be to live with her if she knew that. How much she would love to share that news with the world. How engaged she would become with all your work.”

There was a long, heavy silence. “You are a cruel man, Geoffrey Tennant. A cruel, cruel man.”

“Oh come now, Darren, you’re not going to be here all summer anyway. And who knows, maybe it’s the house that’s lucky and I’ll find a paying job and can move out by summer’s end.”

“One can only hope.”

Geoffrey smiled brightly, picked up Darren’s mug off the floor. “Time for another hot toddy, roomie!” He clinked the mugs together, feeling like his luck had already started to change. 


End file.
